Winter

Wrong Balcony Scene

Harry's flat is cold.

His couch is also stiff, as if no one has ever sat on it, and the whole place faintly smells of lemon cleaning spray.  It reminds of a flat on sale more than one that Harry has been living in for three years, and the only place that even looks like it's used everyday is his bedroom.  

Excuse me, our bedroom. 

I clench my jaw when I remember that Harry wants me sharing a room with him, instead of doing the polite thing and cleaning out his study.  What does he even need a study for?  He's in a gang, he doesn't run a fucking company!  He kills people and sells drugs, for christ's sake!  Of course he doesn't see my logic, and told me that if I didn't want to share his bed, then I was welcome to the couch or the floor, which is why I'm laying on hard couch with only a thin blanket to protect myself from the chill of  the approaching winter.

I stretch my arm over to the coffee table to check my phone, which is the only good thing that has come out of "living" here so far, and quietly groan when I see 1:36 flashing back at me.  I've been trying to fall asleep since eleven. I turn over onto my back, the couch squeaking loudly in the otherwise silent flat. I try to close my eyes, but the environment is too alien for me to comfortably  fall asleep in, so I resort to reciting math equations until I bore myself to sleep.  Plus, I have a calculus test in about eight hours that I really need to do well on, and if I'm going to be dead tired, I might as well be prepared. 

However, I quickly give up on that, wondering if the fact that I ran out of equations in under three minutes is a bad sign, and sit up with a sigh.  I quietly make my way to the kitchen, wincing at the ice cold floor under my bare feet, and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.  I look back at the couch with a resentful frown, and pad over to the balcony doors instead.  I quietly turn the lock and pull open the door, which sends an icy breeze into the room.

In only a t-shirt, I step outside, and marvel at the sight of the lights of London.  For once, the city seems to be be peaceful and quiet, and being above it all makes me feel untouchable.  Dark alleyways are far below me, men with cruel intentions cannot reach me, and any unsavory business is cloaked by shadows.  I don't even feel the cold anymore, in fact I even welcome the breeze that flows right through Harry's shirt.  The only thing that makes me frown is the faint scent of his cologne that comes with the wind.

"Jesus christ, are you trying to freeze to death?"  I jerk a bit in surprise, wondering how I missed the sound of him opening the door.  However I don't turn around, nor do I answer him with words, instead opting to do just a small shrug in response.  I flinch when he suddenly grabs my wrist, dragging me inside and slamming the door closed.  "It's twenty degrees outside and you're standing there in a fucking t-shirt."

I cross my arms over my chest and look at him for the first time.  His hair is a mess and his eyes are puffy from sleep, everything about him looks so soft, except for the pinched corners of his hard frown.  "I-I just couldn't sleep and..."  He glances over at the rumpled blanket on the stiff couch and then back to me.

"I told you to sleep next to me, but no, you chose–"

"That's not fair, Harry!" I cut him off, cranky from my lack of sleep and his lack of consideration.  "You can't just expect me to be okay with sleeping in your bed–"

"Oh please," he scoffs, rolling his pretty eyes at me.  "Like I would be the first man you've shared a bed with."

My mouth drops open, and I'm lost for words for a few seconds.  He thinks that I've slept with at least one person, and I don't know whether or not to correct him.  I mean, I'm not completely innocent, but I've never had sex, and now I'm mad at him for just assuming these things.